Jan 11
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Jan 10
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On warm summer days, I can see the fairies. They come through the door-shaped hole in the trunk of the tree. I can hear their whispered words. I can imagine their tree home, with magic in the air. I can feel the importance of the tree in which they live. On warm summer days, I can watch them come through the doorway in their magic tree.
Jan 10
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When other people look at my favorite tree, they just see a tree.

But when I look up at it’s canopy, it’s a blanket, covering the sky.

When I climb it’s thick, strong, branches, it’s a place to play.

When I watch the squirrels scurry up and down it, it’s a home. 

When I read, curled up in the crook of the branches, It’s magic.

When other people see my favorite oak, they just see a tree.

But when I look at it, I see a friend.